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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113794">what's engraved upon my heart in letters deeply worn</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerryHeart/pseuds/emjee'>emjee (MerryHeart)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn with Feelings, service top Nicky, with major emphasis on comfort and very little hurt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:15:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,717</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113794</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerryHeart/pseuds/emjee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Nicky brings Joe’s hand to his mouth for a kiss. “Do you want a quiet night, my heart?” he asks. “Or would you like me to distract you?"</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>797</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>what's engraved upon my heart in letters deeply worn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is set right at the beginning of the year-long hiatus that ends at the start of the film.</p><p>Title is from "Fair" by The Amazing Devil, which I highly recommend listening to, possibly while you're actually reading this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Booker takes off in the morning, after a round of backslapping hugs. Andy has to run some last-minute errands and doesn’t leave until the afternoon, after a round of hugs that involve only slightly less slapping.</p><p><em>A year</em>, she’d said a few days before. <em>I need a year. I’m exhausted</em>. And they’d agreed. They are all exhausted.</p><p>The door closes behind Andy, and Nicky sighs.</p><p>“Yeah,” says Joe. “Yeah.” He presses his face into his husband’s shoulder and feels Nicky’s arm curl around his waist. “Not like we haven’t split up before,” he mumbles. He sounds unconvincing, even to himself.</p><p>“It’s always hard.”</p><p>Nicky presses a kiss into Joe’s hair and they turn back toward the living room. The house they’re staying at is one of the few that they actually own (Andy’s a nomad at heart and they haven’t leant a hand in hundreds of years’ worth of revolutions just to become landlords). Joe appreciates that they’re somewhere that’s familiar; being sad in hotel rooms is always worse.</p><p>He sprawls on the couch and picks up a novel he’s been meaning to get around to for—well, he doesn’t want to think about how long, now. Nicky finds the guitar that lives at this house and settles into the armchair with it. The face he pulls when he realizes how out of tune it is makes Joe smile, and the background noise of the afternoon becomes Nicky methodically getting it back into working order. He replaces half the strings and twists the tuning pegs, gently, gently, the notes bending as he coaxes them into the proper intervals. It’s a process Joe has watched Nicky work through in so many times and so many places that it makes him instinctively relax. He glances up from his book and sees Nicky in front of him now, but also fifty years ago, five hundred years ago, across continents, illuminated by firelight both indoors and out.</p><p>He actually does manage to pay attention to the book for a while, especially once Nicky has finished warming up and is now trying to recall pieces of his repertoire, muttering under his breath when his fingers scrabble over the strings. He plays the same phrase over and over, slowing down until his hands remember, then working back to tempo. Joe absentmindedly turns his book over and slips into a doze to the sound of Bach’s Bourrée in E Minor. Nicky first learned that piece on the lute, he vaguely remembers. They must not have one stashed here.</p><p>He doesn’t know exactly how long he’s sort-of out for, but Nicky’s still playing when he comes back to himself. He sits up, and he admires his love’s beautiful, talented hands, and he can’t stop worrying about absent family.</p><p>Nicky glances up as the piece he’s playing comes to a close. He lets the final notes vibrate themselves out of existence, then leans the guitar against the chair and comes to sit on the couch.</p><p>“Come here,” he says, so softly, and Joe rearranges himself so his head is in Nicky’s lap. He shudders when he feels Nicky’s hand in his hair, and realizes how much tension has built up in his body. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>This entire day feels like it’s one long sigh. “I just don’t want anything to happen to them.”</p><p>“Mm,” Nicky says, and sinks his fingers properly into Joe’s curls.</p><p>“And of course it’s, you know. Even if they run into trouble, they’ll be able to walk away.” More likely than not, at least.</p><p>“Still. There are worse things than no longer being alive.”</p><p>No one knows that better than they do. Quỳnh’s name hangs in the air, unspoken. So do a thousand other horrors they’ve seen, inflicted on those who only got one death and longed for its release.</p><p>Nicky’s penchant for casually morbid comments have a perverse way of making Joe feel better. It’s confirmation that his worries have reason.</p><p>“You are the love of my long life,” Joe continues, “my north star and my own soul, but they are also my loves. Andy is dearer to me than anyone except you.”</p><p>“And Booker is the brother we met seven hundred years after we said goodbye to our own.” Nicky’s reply follows so swiftly that it sounds like he’s completing Joe’s sentence. “They need this, but we have a right to our concern.”</p><p>“They think they need it. We could have taken a break from the work without taking a break from each other.”</p><p>“You know how Booker is. He’s so young, he hasn’t started to forget things yet. After Belgium I swear he couldn’t look at me for years without seeing what the gas did. He might need a year of just him and the bike and the road.”</p><p>Joe reaches for one of Nicky’s hands, and knots their fingers together so hard it hurts. The twentieth century seemed like nothing but non-stop nightmare fuel, and so far the twenty-first isn’t looking much better.</p><p>“Just because you and I have each other doesn’t mean they don’t have us,” he says.</p><p>“I know. And so do they.”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“Maybe I think they’ll remember, when they need to. And,” his voice brightens, “perhaps I will finally locate the baklava that stumps her.”</p><p>That startles an honest-to-God laugh out of Joe. “Ever full of hope, my love.”</p><p>“What other choice is there?”</p><p>What other choice indeed, when you live as long as they do.</p><p>Nicky brings Joe’s hand to his mouth for a kiss. “Do you want a quiet night, my heart?” he asks. “Or would you like me to distract you?”</p><p>Joe’s eyes have drifted shut; he opens one of them to look up at Nicky, then clocks his expression and opens the other. “Oh.”</p><p>Nicky shrugs. “If you didn’t feel like thinking, for a while. You know what a distraction I can be.”</p><p>“That I do.” Joe sits up. “And I’m…amenable.”</p><p>“<em>Amenable</em>,” Nicky mutters, sliding his hands over Joe’s shoulders. “We’ll see if you can remember your own name in a hour, and then I’ll ask if you’d call that <em>amenable</em>.”</p><p>Joe snorts, and Nicky kisses him.</p><p>Kissing Nicky is—well, Joe’s got about nine hundred years’ worth of poetry on the subject, but there are times when he forgets it all and new comparisons fling themselves across his mind like pearls scattering across a table, like stars hurtling through the sky. This particular kiss is mind-melting, slow and devastatingly intense. Joe’s going to have trouble remembering his own name in far less than an hour if they keep on like this, which would be embarrassing if he weren’t so unmistakably the winner in this situation, or if he had any shame.</p><p>(Nicky will of course insist that <em>he </em>is the winner in this situation. “I get to give you everything you want, what man could ask for more?”)</p><p>Joe leans in, trying to make the kiss something harder, something more, and Nicky pulls away.</p><p>“It’s been a long time since we had the house to ourselves,” he says, “but I’ve slept on the ground too much in the past year to do this anywhere other than bed.”</p><p>“Fair,” Joe concedes, and they go to their bedroom, hands clasped and swinging between them.</p><p>Joe begins to unbutton his shirt, but Nicky gently pulls his hand away with a “Let me, love,” and divests Joe of his clothes with economical movements. He’s stripped Joe down to his boxers almost before Joe realizes it. Joe recognizes the look in Nicky’s eyes, and knows that he’s in for a night that will remind him why they call it <em>getting lucky</em>.</p><p>(Joe’s been lucky for about nine hundred years.)</p><p>Nicky’s out of his own clothes just as fast, and he sits down on the bed and pulls Joe into a kneeling position across his lap.</p><p>“There we are,” Nicky says, spreading his hands across Joe’s back, trailing his fingers over muscles and shoulder blades. He scatters light kisses across Joe’s collarbone before nuzzling against his neck. “I could live here,” he breathes. “Right here, against the curve of your jaw and the warmth of your skin and the smell of you.” He brings his hands to either side of Joe’s face, stroking a thumb across one of his cheekbones. Eye contact with Nicky always brings emphasis on the <em>contact</em>, even if they aren’t touching. Now, with Nicky against him and around him, Joe feels so aware of his body that he thinks he might start shivering. “Light of my eyes,” Nicky says, and kisses his mouth.</p><p>Kissing Nicky is his favorite language.</p><p>This time it’s Nicky who leans in, hard, and changes the tone of the proceedings to something more visceral, something that leads to Joe’s hands fisted in Nicky’s hair, Nicky’s nails leaving scratches, however temporary, down Joe’s back, Nicky’s mouth sucking bruises along Joe’s neck.</p><p>“I will always be grateful that you heal and come back to me,” Nicky says, nearly gasping, “but I wish I could cover you in love bites that stay for more than a few seconds.” They’re grinding against each other now; Nicky shifts his grip on Joe’s body and waits for Joe’s nod before rolling them over. He braces himself over Joe and leans down so their lips are almost brushing. “Your body is a feast.”</p><p>He proves his dedication to this concept by working his way down Joe’s body, slowly, pressing kisses to nearly every inch of skin. Joe arches away from the bed as Nicky mouths at one of his nipples, and Nicky takes the chance to slide one of his arms beneath Joe and draw him up even more as he kisses down his stomach, burying his face in the softness below Joe’s navel.</p><p>And then he blows a raspberry.</p><p>“You little shit!” Joe laughs despite himself, and Nicky smiles up at him, a trickster’s smile that would have Joe pinning him to the bed if it were a different kind of night. As it is, Nicky takes advantage of Joe’s momentary distraction to cup Joe through his boxers, and the noise Joe makes cannot be passed off as anything other than a moan.</p><p>Nicky kneels between Joe’s legs and pulls his boxers down and off, tossing them onto the floor. He presses kisses down the inside of one thigh, then the other, and Joe would tell him to stop being a tease except this is what he wants, what he needs tonight. He’s already grasping at the bedsheets.</p><p>“I love this,” Nicky says, nosing against Joe’s hip crease. “I love paying attention to you. Listening for the change in your breathing, feeling your muscles flex when your toes curl. Noticing when you bite your lip.” He strokes his hands along Joe’s thighs, as though he’s trying to soothe him. It just makes Joe want him more. “What do you want tonight?”</p><p>“Your mouth,” Joe says, without having to consider. “Your gorgeous mouth, and your perfect fingers.”</p><p>No one can draw out a blowjob like Nicolò di Genova. Joe is convinced of this, even though he hasn’t had any experiences that would allow for comparison in nine hundred years. He slips into a hazy sort of state as Nicky licks at him, softly, slowly, barely any pressure, then tongues at his slit, then pulls off completely and strokes Joe with just the circle of his thumb and forefinger, hardly there but still enough to set Joe squirming against the pillows. Joe cannot even hazard a guess at how long this goes on, and then Nicky’s leaning over the edge of bed, feeling for something beneath it, and then Joe feels a slick finger against his perineum. He shudders and spreads his legs wider, and Nicky’s finger is circling his hole, and he really is the luckiest man alive.</p><p>Nicky works him open slowly. Sometimes he wants to feel the stretch, the burn that’s almost too much but adds to the overwhelming sensation of Nicky inside him. Tonight he feels too tender for anything sharp, so Nicky takes it slow and continues to blow him with infuriating patience, and almost without noticing how it happened, Joe realizes Nicky has two fingers inside him.</p><p>And then Nicky rubs his fingers across a spot that makes Joe swear, and pulls completely out, which makes Joe swear more.</p><p>“Filthy mouth,” Nicky says, levering himself up for an equally filthy kiss.</p><p>“You love it.”</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>Nicky alternately fingers him and sucks him off until he feels completely strung out, feet scrambling for purchase against the bed and breathing gone erratic. He’s not entirely in control of the noises he’s making, and he’s definitely not above begging at this point.</p><p>But it’s not that kind of night.</p><p>“How are you, my heart?” Nicky asks from between his legs. “Ready?”</p><p>“Yes—Yes, I—I need you—”</p><p>“You have me, love. I’ve got you.” And he takes Joe in his mouth again, sucking in earnest this time as he moves his fingers in just the way Joe needs, and—</p><p>“Ah—Nicky—<em>fuck</em>!”</p><p>Nicky rides it out, keeping his mouth on Joe until Joe’s completely through the aftershocks of the most intense orgasm he’s had in a year. Nicky pulls off, swallows, and eases his fingers out, looking almost as shaken as Joe feels.</p><p>Joe either falls asleep for a second or loses himself in some kind of post-orgasm fog, because Nicky’s back with a warm washcloth before Joe notices he was gone. He wipes his fingers, and then cleans Joe up, tossing the washcloth on the floor along with his boxers before stretching out beside Joe.</p><p>Nicky’s so hard that Joe feels a new wave of arousal stirring even though he’s still too fucked out to move. He starts to reach for Nicky’s cock, but Nicky moves his hand away and says, “Kiss me?” So Joe does, blissed out and very aware of how chapped his lips have become as Nicky gives himself a few firm strokes and comes with his tongue in Joe’s mouth.</p><p>They lie tangled together until things begin to get uncomfortably sticky and Nicky says, “I think I made a tactical error about the washcloth.”</p><p>So they shower, and Joe relishes running his hands over Nicky’s body as the hot water washes everything away.</p><p>They throw on clean t-shirts and boxers, and Nicky’s toweling his hair dry when Joe says, “Are you hungry?”</p><p>Nicky looks up at him, and smiles a smile that Joe is constantly thanking God for. “Ravenous.”</p><p>They whip something up with odds and ends from the refrigerator, moving around each other in the kitchen with a practiced ease that comes from nearly a millennia of always being aware of where the other person is in space. They’re a binary star system, Joe thinks. Two bodies, one single point of light.</p><p>He turns the radio on as Nicky does a final check to make sure the seasoning’s right. The local classical music station switches to jazz at night, and it reminds Joe of long nights he and Nicky have spent in places where men could dance cheek to cheek with each other.</p><p>“Taste this,” Nicky says, and feeds Joe a forkful of their midnight repast. “Need anything?”</p><p>Joe shakes his head. “It’s perfect.”</p><p>They eat on the couch, with the windows open and the radio spiraling its music out into the night.</p><p>“How are you feeling?” Nicky asks once they’ve set their dishes aside, nudging Joe’s calf with his foot.</p><p>“Better,” Joe admits. “All the concern is still there, but—plenty of hope.”</p><p>“Rest is good for hope.”</p><p>“It is.”</p><p>The voice on the radio announces a piece that has them both exclaiming in recognition (the band had been stellar and the crowd had been deeply queer, in all senses). Joe stands and holds out a hand. “Dance with me, babe.”</p><p>Nicky takes his hand and lets Joe haul him to his feet, and they dance in the living room to the midnight radio, bodies pressed together, hands knit like a lover’s knot.</p><p>“Nicolò,” Joe murmurs, his mouth against Nicky’s ear as they turn together. “I was born to love you.”</p><p>“And I you, my Yusuf.” His lips ghost across Joe’s cheek. “And I you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! Come talk to me in the comments, or find me on tumblr @emjee.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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